The Chinese Disks

CHAPTER VI. FARROW ENTERS

IT was the next afternoon. A sedan was rolling along a high road that overlooked the Hudson River.

Seated at the wheel was a big, bluff-faced driver who was keeping the car at a steady speed.

Beside him was a middle-aged man whose features were hard and whose keen eyes carried a shrewd gaze. This passenger was deep in thought. At times, his lips tightened and his head gave a trifling nod.

That was a habit with Slade Farrow.

One might have picked Slade Farrow as a crook. His hard face would have supported that impression.

Actually, Farrow was a sociologist who had done much in the elimination of crime. He possessed one faculty, that had aided him in his work.

Farrow knew how to make crooks go straight. In his time, he had encountered hundreds of hopeless cases, which he had promptly rejected. But whenever he found a man who was on the borderline, Farrow brought the fellow back on the side of right.

The driver of the car was an example. Dave Garvell had gone crooked. He had served time. He would have remained a crook but for Farrow. The sociologist had met Dave and had put him on the right path.

Since then, Dave had been one of Farrow’s trusted workers.

In fact, the fellow had displayed amazing fidelity to the man who had done so much for him. Right at present, Dave was giving evidence of his concern for Farrow’s welfare. Driving to an unknown destination, Dave had figured where they were going. The thought had rendered him uneasy.

“Listen, boss.” Dave spoke warily as he squinted along the highway. “I’ve begun to get the jitters. Ever since you opened that letter this morning, you’ve been playing mum. What’s up, boss?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Dave.”

“I know that. I’m not supposed to butt into your affairs. But I’ve just sort of figured where we’re going. Up to the big house.”

“That’s right, Dave. A good guess.”

“I don’t mind that, boss. What bothers me is a hunch I’ve got. The way you’ve been thinking things over sort of gave me the idea that you’re going back in stir. It kind of makes me uneasy.”

Farrow chuckled. Aroused from his reverie, he clapped a hand to the big man’s shoulder.

“You’re right, Dave,” said the sociologist, “but don’t worry about it. I’m not going to be there long. A few weeks at the most. I’m going in under my own name.”

Dave looked relieved. Farrow’s last trip to the pen had been a long one. He had used the name of Sam Fulwell and had remained longer than expected. But Farrow’s statement that an alias would be lacking on this trip assured Dave that his chief could get out as soon as planned. Slade Farrow in prison meant a special arrangement with the warden.

THERE was something else that bothered Dave. The big driver shifted a bit before he mentioned it. He had broken the ice and felt that he could talk some more; but he hesitated before he took the plunge.

“That letter that came in this morning,” said Dave, in a wary tone. “I saw it, boss. While you were reading it. I happened to see it again, after you laid it down. It was blank.”

“Because I laid it with the writing side down.”

“That’s what I thought, boss. So I turned it over. It wasn’t my idea to read it. Honest. I was clearing up in the living room of the apartment and I wasn’t quite sure whether you wanted to keep the letter.”

“So you looked at it?”

“Just by accident. I was going to bring it to you. When I picked it up, I turned it almost without thinking. Then was when I saw what had happened to it.”

Farrow chuckled. He made no response.

“It had gone blank, boss,” declared Dave, in a worried tone. “Both sides blank. But it wasn’t that way when you opened it. I saw the writing when you were reading. Blue ink. But then the writing went away. That’s why I began to wonder—”

“What?”

“Just who it had come from. I thought maybe it was from — from—”

“The Shadow?”

Dave nodded as Farrow, by his question, completed the name that the big fellow had failed to utter.

Farrow eyed Dave carefully. He saw that the man was nervous. Farrow smiled.

“Yes, Dave,” he said, “that letter was from The Shadow. Why should that fact worry you?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Dave. “It’s just — well, it’s just on account of the way things used to be. When I was a crook, there was just one person that I wanted to keep away from. That was The Shadow.

“The bulls — they didn’t worry me. It was The Shadow that I was scared of. Plenty scared, too. Say — if I’d ever come up against him, I wouldn’t have been able to pull the trigger of my gat.”

“Probably not,” observed Farrow, with a smile. “A lot of crooks seemed to have that trouble when we were in Southfield. Do you remember that night, Dave?”

“Say — can I ever forget it? Listen, boss, when The Shadow walked into that mess, I could have dived into a concrete alley if there’d been one around. I was with you — and you were on the level. That meant that The Shadow was with us.

“But I was scared, just the same. And after I saw him start with those big smoke wagons of his, I was gladder than ever that I’d gone straight. Listen, boss. You started me straight and I’m staying that way. But if you came to me and said: ‘Dave, I want you to go crooked again,’ I wouldn’t do it. Not since I’ve seen The Shadow.”

Farrow nodded. He had studied this effect of The Shadow’s prowess. Farrow felt that his own efforts in working against crime were puny compared with The Shadow’s ability. Fear, much more than reason, played its part in the mental processes of such fellows as Dave Garvell.

THE car was coming to a fork in the road. Farrow gave a terse order to Dave. The driver nodded; he took the highway that led to the penitentiary. Only a short while remained before the two men would part. Farrow gave brief instructions.

“Keep the apartment in order, Dave,” he said. “Get in touch with Tapper and Hawkeye. Tell them I’ll be back soon. I may be needing them later.”

“On account of The Shadow?”

“Possibly. Remember this, Dave. We were in a tough place up in Southfield. We were dealing with big fellows — ones that were too big. It was The Shadow who saved us.”

“I know it, boss.”

“Never forget it. We wouldn’t be here to-day if The Shadow hadn’t stepped in at the right moment. I’ve always wanted to do something in return. Now is my opportunity.”

“Here at the big house?”

“Yes. That’s why I want you to say nothing. Don’t tell any one where I’ve gone. Not even Tapper and Hawkeye. They know I make trips out of town. That should be sufficient.”

“I get you, boss.”

The car had swung up in front of the huge gray walls that surrounded the big pen. Dave brought the sedan to a stop. He shook hands with Farrow; then watched his chief alight. He caught a gesture that meant to depart. Reluctantly, Dave swung the wheel and turned the car about.

Heading back to New York, the ex-crook remembered Farrow’s injunction. Mum was the word, so far as Dave was concerned. His boss had gone to the big house, with a promise of an early return. That was sufficient. The fact that Farrow was responding to a request from The Shadow was something that Dave was determined not to mention.

Slade Farrow, meanwhile, had passed through the huge portals. The sociologist had reached the warden’s office. He was seated at one side of a desk. Across from him was the warden, a quiet-faced man who listened stolidly as Farrow spoke.

“These credentials” — Farrow laid the papers on the desk — “are ones that I always carry. I called Judge Witherspoon this morning. Doubtless, you have heard from him.”

“I have,” rejoined the warden.

“My purpose is a simple one,” explained Farrow. “I am not the type of sociologist who seeks publicity. In fact, I shun the public eye. Once my name should become known, my usefulness would be at an end.

“I have studied prison conditions from the inside. In every case, I have delivered my compilations to the warden himself. I have given reports — anonymously — to other sociologists. Any of my findings that have appeared in print are attributed to persons other than myself.”

“I understand, Mr. Farrow,” stated the warden. “Judge Witherspoon’s recommendation is sufficient. He told me, however, that you would state your own purpose when you arrived.”

“Very well,” said Farrow. “I should like to obtain first-hand information regarding your new experimental shop. The best method is for me to be placed in there, as a new prisoner.”

“Under what name?”

“My own. It is not known.”

“I can arrange it,” declared the warden, with a nod. He surveyed Farrow’s features and seemed pleased by their hardness. “In fact, I can place you there immediately. We have had occasional cases in which prisoners have been transferred here from other places. Some of them — men with good records — have been put in that shop.

“I can list you as a transfer. That will enable you to gain the confidence of the men whom you meet. As for the exact nature of the crime that cost you your liberty” — the warden paused to smile — “I think I can allow you to decide upon your own story. No one will deny it.”

“I have a story all ready,” replied Farrow, also smiling. “One that will make me entirely at home. I can handle that very nicely.”

“Good,” decided the warden. “As for your release, that can be simply arranged. The prisoners in the privileged shop are allowed to forward any written request directly to me. They do so, quite frequently.

“When you are ready to leave, prepare a note to that effect. Give it to the guard. I shall do the rest. All of the men in the privileged shop are finishing their terms of sentence. Your departure will cause no comment.”

The warden reached out and pressed a buzzer. A secretary appeared. The warden gave him orders. The machinery was moving. While they waited, the warden chatted with Farrow regarding matters with which both were familiar; the myriad details that concerned the operation of a huge penitentiary.

Half an hour after his arrival, Slade Farrow left the warden’s office. One hour after that departure, he was guised as a prisoner, gaining his introduction to the privileged shop of which Diamond Bert Farwell was an inmate.

The Shadow’s plan had worked. Within twenty-four hours after crime had developed in Manhattan. The Shadow had placed a competent observer in the spot that counted most.

Diamond Bert Farwell, playing good behavior in hope of prompt release, was side by side with Slade Farrow, making the acquaintance of the very man whom The Shadow had deputed to seek the source of current crime.